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Almost in oon day, as he dide in tweye.
The grete Ioye that was betwix hem two,
Whan they be met, ther may no tunge telle,
Ther is no more, but unto bed they go,
And thus in Ioye and blisse I let hem dwelle;
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This worthy Mars, that is of knighthod welle,
The flour of fairnes lappeth in his armes,